


and then there were two

by transclawed



Series: teen wolf fics and feelings [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, stiles is always trans, what better than this just guys bein' dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transclawed/pseuds/transclawed
Summary: And suddenly, there was Scott.Standing there, right next to his window, still as if he couldn't believe that he just leaped in. Stiles let his eyes look up, meet. Anything more was too much, energy that he didn't have. After a moment of staring, eyes bright, Scott crossed the room, hair dripping from the rain, leaving wet footprints on Stile's poor rug.





	and then there were two

It happened one night, a vicious storm tearing and howling at the windows, rain lashing in waves against anything and anyone brave enough to venture out of doors. It doesn't really matter when, exactly, but people died, and others almost did. And Stiles, blood dripping down his cheeks, after staring down the muzzle of a gun, again, is just glad to be home. He's empty and tired, the kind where you kind of wish you didn't exist at all.

There's a point where, you're as scared as you'll ever be, and it goes on for so long that it stops. Yeah, he cares about Scott, about Lydia, about Malia, about all of them, but.. he can't tell if he's really feeling anything about it anymore or if he's just going through the motions.

Without bothering to wash the blood off his face, Stiles quietly closes his bedroom door behind himself and sinks down onto the edge of his bed, staring at the floor without really looking at it. Was he supposed to feel something right now? He knew he probably was supposed to, but.. he was just tired. Maybe he'd get lucky one of these days, and something bad would happen to him. That would probably put his head back on right, make him feel like like a person, like he was real. But for now, he figured, might as well sleep. He could brush his teeth in the morning, and his clothes didn't really bother him enough, so Stiles curled up on his side in the middle of his bed with a quiet, slow sigh.

And suddenly, there was Scott.

Standing there, right next to his window, still, as if he couldn't believe that he just leaped in. Stiles let his eyes look up, meet. Anything more was too much, energy that he didn't have.

And Scott, wonderful Scott, his best friend. Was right there, right beside him lifting up by the armpits until he was sort of sitting and his soft mouth was on his and

And Scott was there, holding him. Stiles, too tired to talk or put up his walls, let this small comfort warm him from the inside. Scott was safe. This was safe. And.. He would feel a little less dead, like Scott was tugging him out of deep water to a depth where the surface wasn't quite so far above his head.  
Pulling apart and ignoring the string of saliva that connected their mouths for a second before breaking, probably for both their sakes', Scott gently nudged Stiles with the hand that found it's way to the back of his head, asking silently for his friend to look at him.

For a few moments, they just stared at each other, warm eyes and understanding all that there was. No confusion, not really, just assurances that neither of them didn't want this. They both wanted the comfort, trusted the other. This wasn't dangerous, it was just.. the comfort of someone you love and trust to your core.

"You going to be okay?"

Scot's voice was far too gentle to be allowed, as though, if he'd spoken to anyone else like that, it would be too much. too open, like a wound, no walls or possible misinterpretations, too.. too much love. But for Stiles, it was just enough. Opening his mouth with a slightly ragged gasp, like a drowning man breaching the surface of some great, dark sea, quiet, he blinked slowly before he decided. And it was very much a decision, a choice, not a guess like it had been many, countless times before.

"Yeah. Eventually, I think. Don't.. Don't go. Stay."

The "please" didn't need to be said. With far too much care, more than was needed, Scott took Stiles' hands in his own and, one by one, tenderly uncurled his fingers, taking in the little, angry red half-crescent moons left behind. He brought each injured palm to his lips and pressed against them, as if there was nothing else in the world but this small pain he wanted to take away. They were both quiet, these two boys. They were both so, so tired. Tired of blood, of gunshots, of shouts and bodies in the night.

So they found their own little bit of peace, in the inside of each other's mouth. Hands held bodies, fingers traced muscle. And, for the first time in a very, very long time, they slept without a hint of nightmares. Without the feeling of being hunted. Without the feeling of being alone.


End file.
